


Devil on La Cava

by Anamosa



Category: Black Sheep Squadron
Genre: Canon Continuation, Hurt/Comfort, Period Typical Attitudes, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 14:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10595583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anamosa/pseuds/Anamosa
Summary: Boyington finds an injured Harachi and brings him back to Vella la Cava as a prisoner.  Alternate ending of "the Fastest Gun".





	

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but the storyline and the occasional OC. I promise I'll put everybody back where they belong when I'm done and lock the door when I leave. 
> 
> I haven't written a story in years so it's very clunky. Criticism and suggestions are welcome. So are rants, raves and even flames. My Japanese is as bad as T.J.'s so correction is appreciated. T.J. didn't have the internet, let alone a personal computer, to make his work easier.

Lieutenant Casey's voice crackled over the radio. "Copy, 1800 hours off the southeast tip of the island. Uh...if there's any changes I'll contact you at 1750 on the same frequency. He uh...got you, huh?"

"Well…" Boyington said sheepishly, "we got each other. Out." Greg Boyington ended transmission with La Cava and nudged the dial for another frequency. "Hey rice ball, are you on this island?" No response. He goosed a knob, picked up static, and tried again. "Hey Tommy…!"

Nothing. Must be swimming for Bakati. Boyington hung his radio from his belt, stretched his arms and yawned. He walked to the northwest to scout for fruit, vegetables and the enemy. A large orange flying fox hung from a low branch in a tree directly in front of him. Boyington walked slowly closer to investigate, trying not to step on any twigs. The bat's amber button eyes stared into his blue ones inquisitively. _Those things are kind of cute. Wonder if they can be tamed_ , he thought. The bat sized up the human as harmless, folded its long black wings over its face and went back to sleep.

Branches creaked and rustled, spooking a half dozen shrieking eclectus parrots. Boyington dropped into a crouch, hand on his M1911. A flash of butternut brown fell from a tall tree. Harachi clutched at a branch for purchase and caught only thin air, hitting more branches on the way down. He landed crotch-first on one ( _just spat out his nuts_ , Boyington thought with a sympathy pain). The limber branch bowed and bounced up, sending him airborne. He grabbed a snag of lianas and promptly lost his grip. One leg caught on the fat branch of a fallen tree. He crash-landed ass-over-elbow, flat on his back on the trunk, hitting his head with a thud.

Holding his breath, Boyington crept slowly closer. Harachi lay out cold and still. His harness was either torn off or he'd ditched it, along with his life vest. _Did he break his nec_ k? He unholstered and unloaded Harachi's battered Nambu, stashing it in his flight suit. He slid two fingers under the fallen pilot's silk scarf. His pulse was strong, too rapid but nothing alarming His skin was clammy from sweating under the weight of the rabbit fur-trimmed helmet and winter flight suit. "Where the hell do you think you're stationed? Alaska? Mongolia?" Boyington asked. Harachi remained silent. Boyington gingerly removed the helmet and set it behind him, out of reach. He unfastened and unzipped Harachi's flight suit, assessing possible injuries and frisking him for any other possible weapons or for items worth trading.

Harachi opened his eyes. "Bo..Boi-iin-tan," he croaked in a voice barely above a whisper. "Buy me drink first before feel-up."

"In your dreams, rice ball. Couldn't find it without a magnifying-"

Harachi tried to sit up and free his caught leg. He struggled, swayed and would have fallen on his head again if Boyington hadn't thrown an arm across his back. Boyington helped him up, slung an arm over his shoulder and half-walked, half-carried him out of the mangroves and propped him against a latticed tangle of lianas.

" _Itai itai itai-tai-tai-tai!_ " Which was apparently Japanese for saying something hurt like all hell and back.

"What's ailing you, rice ball?"

"My leg and uh…" He pointed just south of his left armpit. "What you say in English?"

"Ribs?" Boyington untied Harachi's kimono-like white shirt. An angry red patch started from where Harachi pointed and arced towards a nipple.

"Ribs hurts."

"I bet they do. Bet you cracked about sixty-two of 'em." Ribs can't be the only things hurts...

"Boyington," Harachi sighed in exasperation, "no creature has sixty-two ribs."

"Just making sure you're on top of things. Hold still."

Harachi's English crashed and burned. He tried to tell Boyington to use his _senninbari_ to wrap his ribs but could manage no more than a grunt. He wanted to say where else he hurt, not caring if Boyington called him a big sissy. Every instinct told him to knock Boyington out, take back his gun, escape, climb high into a tree, dive into the sea and swim away. Escape...if he didn't feel so weak and fuzzy-headed. He squeezed his eyes tight shut against the sunlight and the pain. His head throbbed, every breath hurt, and his most recent meal threatened to bail out. He heard Boyington mutter something into the radio but couldn't make out what it was.

................

Casey picked up. "This is La Cava, over."

"Larry, let Air Sea Rescue there's a man down. I found a guy on this island and he's pretty banged up."

A dozen pilots jabbered all at once. "Pappy, are you okay? Is it Harachi? He got Harachi!"

Casey yelled, "Shut up, you guys!"

Boyington winked and said, "It's not Harachi. He doesn't look anything like him and is wearing lieutenant's stripes. I don't know who he is. He's awake and talking."

"What's he saying?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? He hasn't said a damn thing in English other than 'Boyington'."

"That island you're on has no clear patch for landing so Air Sea Rescue's flying Dumbo anyway. T.J.'s with them, says they'll land at 1745 hours."

"Dumbo lands at 1745. Copy. Out."

**Author's Note:**

> Costuming failure department: Harachi's flight suit had a lieutenant's insignia instead of a commander's. Oops?


End file.
